


Make Me Forget

by plant_boi_potter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Azkaban mention, Boys Kissing, Dark Mark, Feelings, Fighting, M/M, No Sex, Slight blood mention, The Girls Bathrooms, Word Count: 900
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-11-18 06:36:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18115292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plant_boi_potter/pseuds/plant_boi_potter
Summary: There's more than one way to get rid of pent up anger - apparently.





	Make Me Forget

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely based on Fuck Away The Pain by Divide The Day

Harry doesn't usually lurk in dark corners of the girls' bathroom. But then again - he supposes - neither does Draco.

He can see him, hands conspicuously splayed against the stark white sink. His hair is ruffled from the constant dragging of his nails. For a fleeting second Harry wonders what it'd feel like, raking his own hands through.

His fingers falter on the doorknob, leaving it behind with the briefest of touch. It's like he's severing himself from his lifeline as he steps into the shadows. Draco doesn't seem to notice.

And then, he drops his wand.

***

Whirling around in a blaze of fury, Draco freezes before steeling his gaze - things tick over in his mind until he realises exactly who he's staring at. 

Tears spring to his eyes and he wipes them away ferociously with the back of his hand. Harry's intake of breath is evident when Draco's sleeve catches, sliding down his arm enough for the black to show, intensely threatening against the pallor of Draco's forearm.  
Surrounded by a brittle, deafening silence, Harry lets the breath out of his lungs. And then it's a tsunami of emotions.  
The pulls to Draco's gut as he screams, the blood-stain that is Harry's robes blooming in the middle of a battle ground that hasn't been claimed yet. 

Harry goes for his wand, and then retreats. He doesn't need it. He doesn't need it because Malfoy doesn't have his and he's nothing if not fair, at least that's what he tells himself as he imagines the bloodied knuckles and bruised cheeks. The fight is in him, it seems to be in Draco too, bubbling to the surface - waiting for someone to make the first move.

Draco is shaking now, hands balled into fists so tightly that his veins pop, lines of blue-green twisting around each other like an unkempt forest. The whites of Draco's knuckles shine clear in the fluorescence above his head as he forces to keep his voice even. "Why is it always fucking you?" 

Harry blanches. "What?"

"You heard me!" The barely balled up rage uncoils, his voice wobbling slightly before it breaks into a gulping sob.

"I don't-" Harry would have said he didn't know. But that wasn't quite true. He knew, everyone knew by now. He didn't understand though. 

"You don't what?" Draco sneers, his mouth curling as he rounds on Harry. "What exactly don't you get about it?" Each word is punctuated by a footfall. 

"You send my father to Azkaban you-" He can't catch his breath for some time, thoughts racing as fast as his pulse. 

Regaining some control, Draco tries to steady his voice and Harry pretends not to notice the underlying tremor there."And you won't even apologise. You just go prancing around the place like the fucking hero everyone thinks you are. But I know you're not. You're hiding behind that goddamned mask like everyone else. You're acting like you know everything, like you know what's good for me - my family. Fuck off. You don't know shit, Potter."  
Without warning there's a deafening crack on ceramic and Harry sees black.

***

He comes around later.  
Much later it seems, because - while his head throbs - everything seems different. Well, not quite. Malfoy seems different. He's openly sobbing now, hair falling in his eyes.  
Something breaks. Pottery, maybe?  
Harry turns.

He catches the white-blond hair in the moonlight as he does so. He's so close, Harry could reach out and touch him. But it feels wrong... the way Malfoy is hunched over, staring morosely at a shattered tile near his fist.  
He's mumbling the words "I'm sorry." Over and over like a broken record. It starts to sound almost like a chant, the words numbing to nothingness in Harry's ears as he forces himself to sit up. 

A sharp pain runs through his head. Wincing, he breathes deeply. The heel of his hand is pressed to his forehead to stop the sudden onslaught of what is surely blood. He pulls away and... nothing. 

But Draco is already by his side, tear stained cheeks still drying as he fumbles with his shirt. Harry says nothing, watching the dexterous hands unbuttoning the Oxford. Straining his eyes to follow Draco as he gets up is too much work. But then, he's back at Harry's side, the fabric soaked cold. It presses into Harry's forehead and for a second he's grateful. 

Then the memories come flooding back in torrents, drowning out any redemption Harry hoped to gain. The cloth is dropped at his feet as Draco scrambles backwards.  
"I didn't kill you." The remark is supposed to be scathing but it comes out as more of a whining plea for penance. 

Harry smiles, almost encouragingly. "You want to try again?"  
"To kill you?" Draco is puzzled, his eyebrows coming to knit together, drawn down from the high arched form they usually presumed to take.  
He looks less like his father already and he doesn't even know it. 

Tentatively, Harry reaches out. It looks as though Draco will flinch backward, but he doesn't. Instead, he moves closer and Harry can see the powdered steel that make up Draco Malfoy's eyes. 

"I won't run". He whispers. "Just make me forget." 

And that's all it takes for Harry to crash his cool, chapped lips into Draco's keen, eager ones. He seems almost ready for it. Like he's been waiting his whole life for Harry to tear him apart.


End file.
